Tag, You're It
by XxAngry-Evil-PoptartsxX
Summary: "She wasn't sure what had compelled her to agree to this game. She knew she shouldn't have agreed at all, but when Riddle approached her with the most earnest look on his face, she just couldn't say no. He never asked anyone to play." AU. Creepy. One-shot.
**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **I would like to say right now that this is a one-shot/drabble that I am not sure I will be exploring further. This is completely inspired by the song "Tag, You're It" by Melanie Martinez. I heard it on my drive to work, and I just could not get this idea out of my head. I have other one-shots I am working on posting (none will be turned into multi-chapter fics, I just don't have the stamina for it). So, I hope you enjoy this piece.**

 **Warnings: Creepy!Tom and some mild violence**

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She was running as fast as her tiny legs could take her, her breath coming fast and loud despite the blood rushing through her ears. She couldn't hear him at all—couldn't with each crunch of her feet on the dry leaves of the forest. But she knew he was there, lurking in the dark.

She wasn't sure what had compelled her to agree to this game. She knew she shouldn't have agreed at all, but when Riddle approached her with the most earnest look on his face, she just couldn't say no. He _never_ asked anyone to play—not that many of the other boys and girls wanted to play with him had he even asked.

When she had first moved to Wool's Orphanage, the other children were always sure to steer as far away from the dark-haired boy as they could manage. It didn't matter where they were—the kitchens, the sitting rooms, the bedrooms, the backyard—he was always apart from the larger group, almost as if they were frightened by something. Like there was something dark and terrible lurking behind the angelic features and frail body. She didn't understand why her new friends would not allow her to approach him, or why they told her over and over again to never be alone with him.

She could admit that she had never known malice—that people could intend to actually do harm to her. Her parents, when they had been alive, were kind and loving. Despite the weird things she did, they had always been understanding and kind. They would comfort her after being bullied by the boys and girls in her school for being smart, or for making weird things happen whenever they angered her. She missed them. She wasn't miserable at the orphanage, but it _wasn't_ home. Mrs. Cole liked her, and so did the other children, unlike the ones from school, but it didn't ease the ache she felt deep for her parents' passing.

She still didn't understand that they would never come back, that her time at the orphanage would be a permanent one unless she was adopted. But she was strong—she wouldn't cry. Her mum and dad never liked it when she cried, and she would honor them by stifling the tears that wanted to fall when nights were lonely. She could admit, that she didn't want to be adopted—no one could ever replace her parents, and whenever new faces were seen coming in to see Mrs. Cole, she made sure to hide away. Something that, thankfully, no one else has been able to notice.

So when the loner, Tom Riddle, actually approached her on the first field trip to the park, she was surprised. Her friends were off playing by the beach, leaving her alone to stare off into the sea from the grassy part of the park—so she supposed that was an opportunity as good as any. She had never spoken to him before, so when he opened his mouth and pretty words came out—fancy words that she remembered her own parents would use, she was so eager. He had to be like her—to love to read and to learn; it didn't matter that it wasn't logical at all to assume that. But he _sounded just like them._ It didn't matter that everyone else was scared of him—he had never done anything to her, so why should she? She firmly believed in the goodness of others, and always tried to give second chances, even when some didn't always deserve it.

So when he opened his mouth and said "Would you like to play a game? I promise it'll be quite fun. I can show you the perfect spot for it," she didn't think too hard about the implications of his words at all. Her head nodding in zest before he could even quite finish the sentence. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, she didn't really know him and he seemed so sincere with his question that she just _had_ to.

So that was how she found herself wandering into the darker, and less explored part of the park with the boy—where the leaves accumulated into small mountains, and the sun was difficult to find. It was dark—darker than she had first guessed, but she pushed on despite the unease that seized her. She was scared, but she wasn't going to show that to her new friend—not when he seemed so perfectly at ease leading her through the confusing maze of trees. His eyes were glittering with something she had never seen before—almost like someone took a light and was shining it directly into the most reflective pieces of fine jewelry.

She could admit that she liked the look—it seemed perfectly natural in his usually reserved face. None of the boys and girls ever had that twinkle in their eyes, not even the adults. It was fascinating, and completely disarming in spite of how much darker it seemed to grow in the park the deeper they went. It wasn't until they reached a clearing up ahead, the trees giving way to allow some of the overcast sky to peek through, that the boy stopped. His back was facing her, and she twisted her fingers nervously on the hem of her clean, but worn skirt, when he didn't say anything.

She was still a bit nervous about having come so far away from the other children and Mrs. Cole, especially through the creepy parts of the park, but she stood firm. When he turned to face her though—the glittering in his eyes was still present, but his lips were twisted into a wide smile that did not fit on his face at all. It was all teeth—sharp and jagged at the edges that made her think easily of the monsters in the stories she had read with her mum. It made the shine in the dark depths of his eyes seem endless, and malignant—the nervousness she felt turning into outright fear when he stepped towards her. It was unlike the elegant, slow trod that he had kept when leading her through the trees; it was fluid, like a cat stalking the prey that so easily caught its eye.

He resembled more of a snake ready to trap its quarry, and she stumbled when she took an automatic step back, unable to her look away from him when he stepped closer to her. It was jarring, and completely unexpected how the eagerness and the excitement she had felt earlier could be so easily shattered by one look—she never knew malice, but one could easily sense that something was _wrong_.

And she continued to scramble back as he continued to move toward her—almost tripping on the uneven ground below her when she refused to look away from his eyes. They trapped her own, holding them captive despite how desperately she wanted to flee. If her mum and dad were here, she would never had had to see what the look of evil was. "You're going to try and run from me," he suddenly announced, his voice light and airy as he stopped approaching her; the tone contradicting the gleam in his eyes—the glint of evil and trouble, she now realized. "Think of it like a game of tag, except if I catch you-," he paused there, almost for dramatic effect, the darkness in his eyes seeming to blacken with dark intent. He didn't finish the sentence, leaving her to imagine just what it was that would happen.

His head tilted to the side to assess her as she scrambled to form some sort of answer to the unspoken threat. She didn't want to play this game—it screamed trouble. She was trembling with barely hidden fear, her hair seeming to frizz wildly with the strange energy that would sizzle around her whenever she felt in danger. She was so scared, and it was obvious in the way her knees refused to stop shaking. But if she ran without refusing, without even a protest, would he take that as consent? Would he think that a yes and rush after her until her tiny legs could not move anymore?

She squared her shoulders with those concerns buzzing through her mind, her chin lifting, adopting the posture she always took when she was acting bossy, or even authoritative with the other children. "No," she was happy with how much acid she said the word, faintly smiling in pride when the boy's smile seemed to waver momentarily—as if he had never in his life ever heard the word spoken to him before.

He didn't move, but she was still tense with her desire to flee in the event that he suddenly attacked her. She should have listened to her friends from the beginning, and not given the quiet boy a chance. He was clearly dangerous, even if he seemed like he could do nothing at all. He looked frail, delicate too, but the way he stood and how he appraised her made her skin want to crawl. It wasn't a look even her bullies had given her—as if she were something to eat almost.

It was when the smile returned, a small laugh escaping his lips almost immediately after that, that her stance started to waver. She bit her lip nervously when he showed no sign of stopping, the laugh a seemingly innocent gesture for some, but definitely not to Hermione. Not when his eyes were swirling with something dark— _feral ,_ she interjected quickly in her mind. "What makes you think you have a choice, _Hermione_?" he murmured to her, amusement escaping through the soft voice. "Run." And Hermione couldn't help the scream that bubbled up her throat as she scrambled back and finally turned her back on him when he took a step toward her.

This was how Hermione had ended up running through the labyrinth-like forest—hoping to escape and somehow find the loving arms of her mum and dad. She knew it was a stupid thought, but she still hoped that she would find them at the end of the forest—that they'd be waiting to scoop her up and take her away from the lonely nights in the orphanage and the scary boy, Tom Riddle.

So she ran, her breaths coming short and her legs burning with her desire to rest—but being unwilling to do so. She wanted to lay down, even for just a moment, but she couldn't. Her mind kept flashing to his eyes before he chased her—to the glittering black diamonds that once seemed pretty, but now were so ugly to her. And that would not let her rest.

It didn't stop her when she rushed into a thorny bush, cutting her knees and arms with the edges. It had stung, bringing tears to her eyes, but she refused to stop regardless of how painful her muscles felt and the cuts burned. She heard a soft sound directly behind her, but she refused to look back. If she looked back, she could trip, she reasoned easily in her head. If she looked back, she would get caught and she would see just how close he was. She didn't want to, and so she didn't.

" _I love it when I hear you breathing_ ," she felt her heart stop when she heard the words, his voice sounding much too close—almost a hair's length away.

She screamed at that, not caring in the least that he could hear her as she forced her legs to move despite the ache and the burning in her limbs. She could hear his footsteps now, over the sound of her blood rushing to her ears and the panting of her breath. _How could he be so fast? Even if he had moved immediately after me in the clearing, how was it that he caught up to me so easily?_ She cried in her head as the footsteps started to sound so much closer despite how much she forced herself to move.

She hated this game. She hated _him_. Why did he have to pick on her of all people? What had she ever done to him?

She cried out suddenly when she felt the sharp sting of her hair getting pulled—feeling like some of the hair was coming apart from her scalp from the brutal tug. She kept moving despite it, trying to stay away no matter how much pain she felt, but his grip was firm and unyielding. He had his fingers imbedded into the hairs much too close to her head, and even if she wanted to, she found herself unwittingly whirled around and yanked to the ground by it. He pulled, and she screamed again, her hands coming up to get the fingers out, but they would not relent. She clawed at the hand—her legs scrambling to get up from where she had fallen on the unforgiving earth, but it was like he could not feel the pain of her scratching.

What was _he?_

His fingers suddenly tightened on her scalp, the pain somehow superseding the earlier tug, and she yelped at that—her head swiveling in his direction when he tugged until she was looking up at him. He looked completely unaffected—as if he had not just spent those last few minutes—or were they hours?—chasing her through the park. The only sign, perhaps, of what he had been up to was the slight flush on his cheeks that marred normally pale features. He looked almost human now—less of a doll than he normally did. And it was terrifying that he could look that way at the expense of her own suffering.

He smiled briefly at her, the darkness in the depths of his eyes smoldering with barely repressed glee. She flinched from the look, and started to shake when he crouched in front of her with his hand still firmly on her hair.

" _Tag, you're it_."


End file.
